Abandon
by Triola
Summary: ONESHOT. In which Harry wakes up hungover, throws away all his principles and fraternizes with the enemy. Slash HPDM. Pre HBP.


**Title:** Abandon

**Author name:** triola

**Category:** Romance

**Sub Category:** None

**Rating:** M – just for safety

**Main Characters:** Harry, Draco

**Ships:** H/D

**Summary:** In which Harry wakes up hungover, throws away all his principles and fraternizes with the enemy.

**DISCLAIMER:** No money being made, no copy right infringement, blah blah, don't own.

**Author notes: **This is, as always, completely plotless. I wanted to write Harry/Draco, so I did. I won't give any reason for this scene, nor any background, nor anything really, except the scene in itself. Love it or leave it. Or is that take it or leave it? Ah, who cares. But I have one warning: this story includes a budding blond-hair-fixation. Beware.

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Harry Potter woke with a start and looked around wildly. Where the hell was he and why in the name of Merlin did he feel as if an entire herd of Hufflepuffs had recently stomped all over his head on their way to dinner? He glanced around him and noticed that from the looks of it (it being the large amount of couches and squishy chairs, but the remarkable lack of people), he was in an empty common room. An empty common room decorated in different tones of bronze and blue. Now, Harry had never been accused of being remarkably clever or anything like that, that was Hermione's thing, but even he had the brain capacity to deduce that for some strange reason he had wound up in the Ravenclaw tower. Which was strange in itself, but Harry didn't have the time to dwell on it as he had bigger things on his agenda. Namely one gigantic motherfucker of a completely, utterly _agonizing_ headache. Do excuse the French. 

Groaning, he closed his eyes from the glaring light of the sun, which was shining in through the half-closed curtains. He cursed the person who had committed this brutal act of illumination and reached up to touch his forehead. Strangely enough, he couldn't find any tender areas, which probably meant that he hadn't been hit by the Knight Bus as he had first presumed. No, this was an entirely different matter, he realized. Only one thing could possibly provoke a headache this big, this excruciating, this full of oh-god-kill-me-now-I-simply-cannot-stand-it-let-me-ddiiieeeeeee sentiments.

"I am never ever _ever_ drinking again," Harry muttered, dropping his hand from his forehead and into his lap.

Only, his hand never reached his lap. Halfway there it was stopped by something else. Something… hairy? Opening his eyes with much difficulty, Harry looked down to see what was blocking the path of his arm. It was a head. Blinking, Harry leaned in to take a closer look. No, his current state of having misplaced his glasses hadn't led him to hallucinations, his hand was definitely resting on top of a head.

Hmm, how peculiar, Harry thought to himself. Who in their right mind would fall asleep with their head in my lap?

He looked closer at the head. Its owner was facing away from Harry, halfway out into the room and halfway down into Harry's knees, so it was rather hard to say much about the head, except that it was filled with blond hair. Rather long, soft, blond hair, Harry noticed after letting a strand slide across his fingers. Fascinated, he hesitantly touched another strand of hair, then another, and another.

Soon, without really knowing how it had happened, Harry was stroking that unknown head of hair, running his fingers carefully up and down the scalp. It was addicting. The texture, the feeling of silky tresses caressing his fingers, the vague smell of a foreign shampoo… who could have known that simply playing with someone's hair could be so exciting, so fulfilling?

Harry lifted some of the hair up a little, watching as the thin lock caught the light. Mesmerized, he rolled the strands between his fingers, watching as different parts of it seemed to come to life and glow with the touch of the sun. It was really quite beautiful. Harry had always thought of blond as a boring hair colour, something dull and almost lifeless. Like straw. Coarse, and, well, plain really. Nothing like a fiery red, or a rich brown colour. Even Tonks' pink was better than blond! Oh, how wrong he had been.

As he watched those thin strands of hair, he realised that blond hair was so much more than the yellow crayon small children use to depict it with. It wasn't yellow at all, nor boring, nor lifeless. There was a whole spectre of colours, all ranging from red to white via gold and yellow and orange and beige and silver and he didn't even know what. Some of it looked almost translucent, glowing with an inner beauty that Harry had never known it could possibly possess. Soaking up the sun, dancing across his fingers as if there was nothing in the world to worry about. As if Voldemort wasn't back, as if Sirius wasn't dead, as if people weren't killed this very instant.

Who could have known that blond hair was so untroubled, so naïve? And that it would make Harry so indescribably happy just to see it twirl in the light, to feel those silky strands brush across his finger, uncaring about anything else than their quest towards the sun.

Smiling softly, Harry twirled one lock of hair between his fingers then watched as it slipped out of his grip the minute he let it go. Somewhere in the back of his mind a nagging voice told him to stop, that the owner of the hair could wake up any minute and that Harry would be mortified to be caught like this, but Harry skilfully ignored it. That the voice sounded suspiciously like Hermione really wasn't any hindrance.

A small movement from the head in his lap had Harry sucking in his breath, but all the person did was groan and roll over slightly, hiding their face further into Harry's knees and away from the light. Which left Harry with even more pretty, perfect, blond hair to play with. He didn't hesitate, but moved his hand to the person's forehead to brush the hair backwards, making all of it lie in the same direction.

Some locks fell out of place, and Harry brushed them back, at the same time revealing the ear. With the hair brushed back Harry noticed that behind the ear, there was a rather large area where it didn't really grow any hair. He supposed he had been aware of this already, on a subconscious level, but he had never noticed it as clearly as now. Unable to stop himself, Harry reached down and gently skimmed his fingertips across that patch of skin. The side of his index finger bumped lightly into the side of the ear and Harry felt an inexplicable spark of arousal course though him. He touched the shell of the ear and shuddered as his imagination provided him with a rather vivid image of himself licking that very same expanse of skin.

His heart in his throat, Harry felt something like a thief as he let his fingers ghost across pale skin, down the sensual curve of a throat. It gave him an odd thrill to know that he was doing this, that he dared to touch an unknown person while they were asleep. He felt powerful, stealthy and aroused all at once. It was… liberating, almost. To just throw away all principles, to do something just because he wanted to. To touch another human being in such an intimate way.

Licking his dry lips, Harry continued to gently explore the skin of the stranger. He dipped his fingers into the hollow of the neck and felt how the collarbone protruded awkwardly, almost as if it was trying to break away from the rest of the body. Or giving a silent message that the person in question should eat more. His investigation brought his fingers further up the throat and Harry gasped silently as he felt the object of his fascination swallow against a rather prominent Adam's apple. A glance down the body of the stranger confirmed his suspicions. The body curled up on the sofa next to him was long, lean, and oh so male. For some reason Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sight and he felt an inexplicable urge to run his hand further down this body, to slip his fingers beneath the dark blue robe, to find out if the hipbone jutted out as much as the collarbone did.

He had rested his hand against the other boy's chest as he studied his body, and when he felt the stranger move slowly, he just assumed he was hiding away from the light again. However, when he moved his eyes back to the head of the person, he suddenly found himself staring straight into the open eyes of Draco Malfoy. For some reason, Harry didn't feel as surprised at this as he thought he would have. Nor as disgusted.

"Oh, uhm, you're awake," Harry said stupidly, regretting it the instant later.

"Obviously," Malfoy drawled, his mouth quirking upwards in what might have been a smile, maybe, in a cynical and Malfoy-ish way. Harry blushed anyway. He wanted to look away, but he found that that was a feat quite far beyond his capability. Malfoy's eyes were like a car crash. You couldn't look away, no matter how much you wanted to. Except, well, Malfoy's eyes looked nothing like a crash of any sort, unless it was the crash between a silver orb and rays of moonlight, and Harry couldn't believe he had just thought that. Blushing even harder, Harry tried to come up with something clever to say, something to explain this, anything really.

"Uhm, errr…" he started awkwardly. "You're, well, lying in my lap?"

"So it would seem, yes," Malfoy nodded, not looking the least perturbed by this little tidbit of information.

"Uhm, why?" That wasn't exactly the 'get away from my lap, you bastard' that he had planned, but he couldn't help it, he was curious.

"Why not?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him and Harry searched his mind for a decent answer to that, but apparently his brain could only be in one place at the time, and when Malfoy looked at him like that, well, the head wasn't really very high up on the priority list.

"Right," Harry swallowed nervously. "Well, uhm, when do you think you will be moving away then?"

"Hmmm, I don't know," Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment before stretching his arms above his head, letting the one closest to Harry slide down his chest on the way down. Harry visibly shuddered as one finger ghosted over his nipple, but it was over as quickly as it started and with Malfoy's hands once again tucked safely away next to his own body, Harry wondered if he hadn't imagined it. However, from the slight smirk on Malfoy's face he knew he hadn't. "Do you want me to move?"

Harry's breath hitched in his throat and he licked his lips unconsciously. "Uh, ah, that is, yes?" It was a big, bad lie, and Harry could see that Malfoy didn't believe him one bit.

"Is that so?" Malfoy whispered, and Harry didn't know if it was teenage hormones or what, but damn did it sound seductive. "Well then, I suppose I will have to move then," he continued. "Anything for our resident hero." And with a smirk that couldn't possibly be described as anything other than lewd, he slowly sat up, his body touching Harry's every inch of the way.

After some rearranging Malfoy was sitting up, next to Harry, but no further away the he had been when he had his head in his lap. If possibly, he was even closer. The side of his body was meeting the side of Harry's, body part by body part, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee. Harry felt it as acutely as if Malfoy had been on fire next to him. In fact, with the heat he was generating, Harry wouldn't be surprised if he was.

"Is that better?" Malfoy asked, leaning so close to Harry's ear that he could feel his breath ghosting across the shell, sending shivers down his spine.

Harry was about to answer, but as he felt Malfoy's hand on his knee he decided to treat it as a rhetorical question and focus more on steadying his breathing.

"Malfoy, what are you…" he was cut off by Malfoy's finger on his mouth and the feeling of his hand sliding further up his thigh.

"Shhhh," his voice silky and smooth, unlike Harry had ever heard it before. "The lady doth protest too much." His hand slid even further up Harry's thigh and at that point he couldn't other than agree. Protesting was overrated anyway. "Much better," Malfoy murmured and slid his hand down from Harry's mouth and across his neck, exploring it much like Harry had done to him previously. The mixture between what he was feeling and the memory of how it was to touch Malfoy like that had Harry tipping his head back to give him better access. He felt those long, thin fingers play across his skin, ghosting past his Adam's apple and up his jaw.

He was just getting used to it when he felt a new sensation. Suddenly, at the base of his throat, there was something much softer than fingers. Something wet and pliant and oh-god that felt good. Harry threw his head back even further, moaning deep in his chest as he felt the other boy kissing his way up his neck. By the time those lips reached his own, he was feeling emboldened enough to bury his hands in Malfoy's hair, feeling those by now familiar strands slide through his fingers as he kissed him back with gusto. He quickly decided that kissing Malfoy was nothing like kissing anyone else. Usually, with those few girls he'd kissed, Harry had to take the initiative. He was the one to open their lips gently with his tongue, to coax them into participating fully. With Malfoy, it was completely the other way around. Before Harry could even think about taking control, Malfoy's tongue was already inside his mouth, and Harry was too far gone to think too much about it. Clearly Malfoy was a good kisser, and that was all that mattered at the moment. He could mull over the finer points later.

This continued for a while, and when Malfoy so decided to straddle his lap, Harry felt he could have died happily there and then. Friction was… _Merlin_, so underrated! And the feeling of another hardness so close to his own, only separated by thin layers of clothes, ah, Circe, Harry was becoming more and more open to discussing the nature of his sexuality by the second. Because clearly he couldn't be considered straight when rubbing up against Malfoy was looking more and more likely to end up on his top-ten experiences list.

From there things escalated rather quickly and when asked at a later point, Harry wouldn't be able to tell anyone exactly what happened next, but he knew there was removal of clothes and more friction and Malfoy's hand and oh Merlin that felt good and more removal of clothes and Gods Draco and licking his ear and kissing and nipples and more more more more kissing friction Merlin Merlin Draco aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh! And then he was coming. Hard.

Harry rested his head back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breathing hard. He felt a spurt of something warm across his stomach and then he felt Malfoy slumping against him. The first thing Harry noticed when he came to his senses again was that his headache was back. He seemed to have forgotten about it for a while there, or it had disappeared or something, but now it was back full force. He groaned slightly and reached up to cradle his head. He felt Malfoy move away and blearily opened one eye to see him, naked as the day he was born, rummaging through one of the pockets of his robe. When Harry saw that he was about to turn back again he quickly closed his eyes so he wouldn't be caught admiring the view.

"Here." Something was shoved into Harry's hand and he opened his eyes to look down. It was a small vial filled with a clear, silvery liquid. It vaguely reminded Harry of Malfoy's eyes, and he was definitely slapping himself later for ever thinking that.

"What is it?" He asked suspiciously.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter, if I wanted to poison you, you would be dead already. As it is, I am quite content to settle for shagging you, but sadly, the chances of me coming anywhere near your arse while you are feeling sorry for yourself are in fact painfully close to none, so ergo, a hangover potion."

Harry didn't know if he was supposed to feel angry over the fact that Malfoy actually thought he could kill him, annoyed over the fact that he thought he felt sorry for himself, or thrilled over the prospect of getting more delicious friction. He decided to down the potion instead.

"There's a good boy," Malfoy patted him on the head and sent him one of those blasted smirk-smiles. "Now, the potion will take about an hour to work properly, and in the mean time I plan to take a shower." He got to his feet and started dressing. Harry began gathering his clothes as well, but soon got too caught up in watching Malfoy to really get anything done himself. It was just too distracting to see the ripple of muscle as he bent, the way is hair spilled down and caught the light, reaching a bit past his shoulders now.

When Malfoy was finished dressed, he took out a ribbon from his pocked and moved to tie his hair back.

"No!" Harry's protest was out his mouth before he'd even thought about it. "Oh. Uhm, I mean… please keep it down? Your hair, that is. Down. It's, uh, well… " He coughed and muttered a word that was barely perceptible.

"What was that?" Malfoy asked, his eyes shining in amusement.

Harry coughed again. "Pretty," he muttered. "It's prettier that way."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, but this time he was definitely smiling as well. "Well, that might be, but I am afraid that no matter how pretty it is, it is not becoming for a young, pureblood man to let his hair hang loose." He moved to tie his hair back again, but he must have seen something of Harry's dejection, because he stopped the movement halfway. "However…" he said thoughtfully. "There is no rule saying who can and cannot tie it back." He smirked slightly and held the ribbon towards Harry.

Surprised, but unexpectedly eager all of a sudden, Harry took the offered band and moved to stand behind Malfoy. He reached around and carefully tucked the side hair behind his ears, making sure his fingers stroked along the other boy's jaw in the process. Malfoy's hair was very straight, Harry noticed, and had to stifle a laugh when the thought 'unlike its owner' entered his mind. He ran his hand gently through the mane, removing any tangles, before gathering it all together with one hand. With the other one he lightly brushed his fingers along the scalp, collecting those few wisps of hair that had managed to escape. He took his time, finally finishing off by winding the black ribbon carefully around the tresses of hair before tying it up in a somewhat lopsided bow.

"There you are," he murmured, letting his hands fall down along his sides again as he admired his work.

Malfoy turned around slowly until they were standing face to face. "Here I am," He smiled slightly.

"Yes," Harry swallowed, unable to keep himself from gazing into those grey grey eyes.

"But not for long." Malfoy pointed out, unhelpfully.

"No," Harry answered, looking down. "Not for long."

Malfoy brought his hand up to caress Harry's face, tipping his chin up so that they were looking at each other once more. "The password is Scientia est Potentia," he smirked slightly. "Pansy has been channelling Ravenclaws lately." He placed a chaste kiss on Harry's lips before letting go. "See you in one hour?"

Smiling, Harry tucked a stray strand of hair behind Malfoy's ear. "Okay."

"Good."

And then he was gone, and Harry was standing alone, in the middle of an empty Ravenclaw common room, stifling the urge to grin like a love struck fool as he plucked a long, blond hair from his sweater, twirling it gently between his fingers and watching as it caught the light.

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.On sait déjà ces moments-la  
La soleil avait prepare ca  
L'abandon tout petit  
Les iles initient a l'amour ici

_- L'Abandon_

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Reviews are, as always, more than welcome. I adore receiving them. Yes, I do squeal, and no, I am not ashamed to admit it. 


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